The Siblings that Drowned
by miSS-yUnz
Summary: Cashmere and Gloss emerged as victors in their respective Hunger games.Now, once again, they have been thrown into the horrors of the arena.In matters of life and death,how strong are familial ties?The untold story of the doomed siblings from district one
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone! So, I don't know if I'm the only one who was intrigued by Cashmere and Gloss in Catching fire. The fact that they are siblings just made me so speculative of their experiences on the field, and their relationship to eachother. In the book, they seemed close, as they were always together at training, and Cashmere was leading Gloss around by the hand. I was sort of sad when Collins killed them off because I think it could have made for an interesting dynamic, so I decided to write one myself. Hope you enjoy! Don't forget to review!

The Siblings that Drowned

Cashmere did not love many things. She loved the dull sheen of unpolished diamonds. She loved her frivolous possessions, her shoes, dresses, necklaces, mountains of them. She loved the hungry stares of men as she walked around District 1.

Unable to stop the haughty grin tugging at her full lips, she pulled her dress just a bit lower to reveal her cleavage line. The reactions were instantaneous, several pairs of male eyes shooting towards her chest tactlessly and sloppily.

They were so simple minded, these men. Cashmere could see in their eyes that they all sincerely believed they had the chance of winning her someday. They dreamed of carrying her home, a trophy wife. Their own little beautiful, crazy victor to show off to their friends.

Cashmere loved the attention, so she let them drown themselves in any fallacy they wanted: But she would never be theirs. Even if she were to marry, she would quickly become bored and murder them for the sport of it. While she thrived off the lustful gazes, Cashmere hated most human company.

Ever since the games, that is.

Before her time in the Hunger Games, Cashmere was admittedly still cold, rude, and widely disliked. However, she still did have her circle of superficial friendships which she enjoyed. But after the brutality of the games, Cashmere could not bring herself to reassimilate amongst other people. She hated everyone for not having undergone the same torture she had. Her bitterness was unwarranted, she knew. But she couldn't suppress her distaste.

Cashmere turned away from the hungry stares, into Victor's Village. Her face quickly broke into a less haughty expression. Victor's Village was a place where she could feel at home. People understood the Hunger Games here. She considered those in Victor's Village her equals.

"Hello Opal." Cashmere said, waving brightly towards a middle aged woman who sat on her porch, knitting a scarf.

The woman smiled and waved back. Opal had been Cashmere's mentor during the games, and now was almost like a surrogate mother to herself and Gloss.

They were orphans, had been since Cashmere was six and Gloss was five. Their parents had died when they inhaled too much of a new Capital issued jewel polish that turned out to be greatly toxic.

This was when Cashmere felt her first distaste for the Capital, simply because they had taken her parents away. But with each hunger games she was forced to watch, her simple distaste burst into an all out hatred. Of course, she never voiced her strong opinions out loud. Opinions could easily get you killed in Panem, and Cashmere was no brazen idiot.

Gloss understood though. He always seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, as if he were her other half. Though they were not twins, the siblings could easily pass off for it. Both had exquisitely chiseled features, and the same piercing blue eyes. Their hair was the exact same shade of soft blond, and held the same barely there wave.

Cashmere and Gloss were both beautiful specimens. Granted, they didn't have the raw, sexual magnetism that Finnick Odair of district 4 had, but they were beautiful and ethereal in their own way.

This superior beauty may just have been what carried the sibling through their respective hunger games. Like Finnick who won the games before them, both Cashmere and Gloss received endless streams of food and medicine throughout the games. While both were capable fighters and quick thinkers, the sponsors most definitely carried them through.

She had reached her home.

Adjusting a basket full of pastries in her arms, she fidgeted with her keys and stepped into her mansion.

Gloss was sitting on the windowsill, demurely reading a painfully long book that Cashmere shuddered at the mere thought of touching.

For as similar as they looked, Cashmere and Gloss were as different as fire and ice. Cashmere was fierce and confrontational. Despite having a reputation of being simple minded and mean hearted, Cashmere was more perceptive than most, and loving to the select few she chose. Above all, she was passionate in all aspects of her life, be it anger or love. Gloss was indifferently polite to everyone, and angered extremely slowly. Unlike his older sister, no one could possibly mistake him for being stupid. Rather, he seemed to be in a perpetual state of detachment. Only Cashmere was able to coax a smile from his usually stony face, and such a wonderfully kind expression it was.

"Come off that window, Gloss. I bought some pastries."

He climbed off the windowsill and reached into the basket, pulling out a vanilla crème braided bread: his favorite. He took a bite and chewed, still wearing that stoic expression on his face.

"I woke up and you were gone. You went to the market?"

"I wanted to buy sweets. Today is the day they announce the quarter quell, we can't allow this joyous occasion to pass without celebration." She said, acid in her voice. The edges of Gloss' lips rose as he picked up a knife from the counter.

"Do you want me to cut the strudel for you?" He asked, wiping the blade on his shirt hem.

Cashmere smiled. "Yes, thank you."

Gloss knew by now that Cashmere hated eating anything that was not cut into small pieces. As vain as this was, Cashmere didn't like food to stick to her lips. She felt it tarnished her beauty and made her look slovenly. Gloss pulled out the pastry and cleanly cut it into bite sized piece.

Watching her brother use the knife with such precision brought Cashmere's mind back to the weeks in which she watched him struggle through the Hunger Games. His weapon of choice had been a set of twin daggers he found at cornucopia, and he used it with such liquid ease that the careers had instantly recruited him, despite his young age of fifteen. With the careers, Gloss scoured the arena in search of other players. Cashmere remembered distinctly however, how even after mortally injuring others, Gloss seemed to always shy away from dealing the finishing blow. The other careers gladly finished the job for him, but he always seemed to have a stricken look of guilt afterwards. He was never one to smile or gloat about hurting someone, as the other careers did. In fact, the only direct kills Gloss ever dealt were that of the careers he was traveling with. He made his fame by slicking the career's water canteens with nectar from a toxic flower as they slept. The next day, all six of them dropped down dead within ten minutes of each other, and Gloss kneeled and covered his ears as the terrible cannon sounded off six times consecutively. Within the next few days, the remaining contestants died from starvation, or killed one another. Gloss won hand over fist, despite his nascent brutality. Gloss was famous for this act, and every year, a flood of flowers arrived on their doorstep from his admirers in the capital. Gloss, however, said there was something morbid about the tradition, and he gave all of them to Cashmere who wore them in her hair.

"Here you go." Gloss interrupted her unpleasant memories by sliding the cut up pastries onto her plate.

Cashmere stood and popped open a glass of wine, pouring them into elegant glasses. The siblings didn't normally drink, but on hunger game related days, they couldn't manage without nursing a glass of alcohol.

The automatic television flickered on at the exact time of the quarter quell announcement.

"Cheers." Gloss said, raising his glass with a rueful smile.

Cashmere met his glass with a clink, and the siblings turned to watch the announcements. As always, they gripped each other's hands like children to keep their demons at bay.


	2. The Announcement

a/n: Thanks for the kind reviews ^^ Glad to know I wasn't the only on disappointed by the lack of fleshing out of Cashmere and Gloss. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 2

Cashmere felt Gloss's hand quivering when President Snow took the stage to read his sickening spiel about the dark days. He hated the freakishly engineered man, possibly even more than she did. What most people didn't know about President Snow was that he propositioned attractive female victors to come into his bed. She was one of those victors. For all the wealth she won from the Hunger Games, what power could she possibly wield against the President of Panem?

Strangely, it was Gloss who held more raw, unbridled hatred for Snow. Her brother was mellow spirited and refrained from violence when it was not absolutely necessary. But Cashmere knew that if he could, he would gladly rip the president's plastic limbs off. Instead, Gloss squeezed her hand so hard that the tips of her fingers were turning purpled and numb.

"Gloss, calm down." Cashmere whispered, and he lessened his grip with an apologetic murmur.

His hands were still shaking from barely controlled nerves though, and Cashmere stroked his knuckles. Gloss became indignant when someone wronged his sister, but any wrong done to himself he passively let slide. Cashmere loved her brother for this, but the lack of regard he had for himself worried her as well. It was very un-district 1 of him. After all, their district did have the awful stigma of being self absorbed and haughty, and Cashmere had to admit that it wasn't unwarranted.

A child dressed in sterile white suit holds out a box full of yellowed envelopes. The president leans down and pulls out the one marked 75. Meticulously, he pulls out a small square of paper and clears his throat.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

The words don't immediately compute to Cashmere, but Gloss jerks and sends his glass of wine rolling across the table, spurting bloody red all over the tablecloth. The wine has splattered his chest, but he either doesn't realize, or doesn't care.

"Cashmere!" He gasps, grasping her hands in his again. His hands are slippery and red with spilled wine.

"I- I don't understand." Cashmere says in a small voice, though the implications of what she just heard are beginning to dawn on her. She doesn't want to acknowledge it. She almost felt as if she didn't acknowledge it, it wouldn't become reality.

"Yes you do." Gloss whispered. He saw right through her, just like he always did. "You do understand."

And suddenly she did. They would be standing in a crowd, praying not to be reaped again. Again! She couldn't bear to stand in another reaping. Not again. This wasn't supposed to happen again. She had gone to the Hunger games, and so had Gloss. They had won, and were promised immunity. And they were too old for it now too. She was 25, Gloss was 24. There must have been a mistake!

"No." Cashmere said, breaking her brother's grip on her hands. She wiped her slick hands on her dress, staining it red. It reminded her too much of blood. It reminded her too much of how blood had spurted onto her shirt during her Hunger Games when she stabbed her partner in the cheek. She had betrayed him, his teeth exposed through his face, his lips hanging in shredded scraps. She had to get it off of her!

Stumbling back, Cashmere tried to pull her soiled dress over her head, memories of murder still coursing in her mind. Distantly, she heard herself screaming, but she couldn't stop it. It ripped itself from her throat, and she was powerless against its sheer animalistic force.

"Cashmere, stop it!" Gloss ran forward, forcing the dress back over her body. Cashmere pushed him away from her as if he were an embodiment of the Hunger Games itself.

"Get away from me!" She screamed, running behind the table and grabbing her half full wine glass. "I'm not going back there! I'm never going back there!"

The glass shattered next to Gloss' head, cutting his cheeks and splashing him with stinging wine. The alcohol burned in his eyes, but that wasn't the reason for the tears that fell down his cheeks. Whatever nightmares and emotions he and Cashmere repressed normally was gushing forth uncontrollably. Cashmere reacted to it with anger, Gloss with tears.

Cashmere grabbed Gloss' empty wine glass and prepared to hurl it at him, but he was quicker. The brother upturned the table to get to her, and grabbed his sister's wrists with such strength that her fingers dropped the glass. It shattered at their feet, but she continued to struggle against him.

"We're not going back there! We're not!"

"WHO SAYS WE ARE?"

Cashmere stopped struggling at once, jerked out of her frenzy by her brother's uncharacteristically passionate shout.

She looked up at the person gripping her, and realized that it was her brother she had been attacking, not an enemy. His blue eyes were filled with tears, but his expression was contorted with frustration.

"Who says we are?" He repeated. "There are dozens of winners in district 1. It could be anyone else!"

Cashmere shivered, and he brother held her closer to stifle her adrenaline fueled quiver.

"Please, let's not do this. Let's realize that the odds of either of us being picked are against us."

Cashmere encircled her arms over her brother's neck. The siblings clung to each other like that as the program continued in the distant background. Cashmere knew his words were spoken only for her benefit. Somewhere deep in both of their minds, they knew that both of them would be chosen this year. They knew that reaping were not always at random, and they were both attractive and brother and sister. Siblings thrown into the arena and pitted against each other, how dramatic of a showdown would that be? And everyone knew the Capital loves scandal.

Cashmere couldn't remember when she and her brother had stopped embracing. She didn't remember ever laying down and falling asleep, but she must have. The next morning, she awoke on the floor of the living room, wrapped in a thin silk blanket. The smell of sizzling bacon and potatoes was wafting over from the kitchen, and she knew that Gloss must have, for once, awoken before her.

She stood and made a direct beeline for the bathroom. Her own reflection terrified her. Staring back at her was a haggard woman with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. How could one night affect her so much?

After washing up, she stumbled into the kitchen. Gloss was bustling around the stovetop, frying potatoes with garlic and butter, crisping bacon, squeezing fresh orange juice. He moved incessantly, as if his very sanity depended on it.

"Hello, Cash." He smiled and waved in between flipping the bacon.

Cashmere nodded groggily in acknowledgement, and sat down at the table. She noticed that her brother's eyes were puffed up and bloodshot. He must have been up crying long after she fell asleep.

Gloss set a heaping plate of food and fresh orange juice in front of her, then sat down with some for himself. Normally, neither of the siblings had large appetites, but in the fatalistic mindset Gloss had sunken in to, he wanted them eat, live, and laugh as much as possible. After the reaping, there certainly wouldn't be much to laugh about.

"You look like you've aged ten years, sister mine." Gloss said, waving his fork in teasing disapproval.

Cashmere was undeniably vain, and was defensive over her physical looks. Gloss was the only person she permitted to make fun of her beauty, but that didn't stop her from throwing a piece of bread at his face.

He caught it, and chewed it with a knowing smirk.

"Hey, don't get mad cotton ball, just make sure to catch up on your beauty sleep."

Cashmere laughed. Cotton ball was a nickname Gloss used, only when he wanted something from her, or to defuse her temper.

"I'll make a note of that."

Cashmere looked down at her imposingly large plate, and giggled when she noticed that Gloss had already cut up the bacon and potatoes into small bits. She dug into the food, and only after the first few bites did she realize how hungry she really was. Tying her hair back to keep the strands from getting in the way, she tucked into the food in a way that would put a cow to shame.

"What's the point in me cutting up your food into dainty pieces if your just going to inhale it like that? You might as well dip your whole face into it."

"Leave me alone." Cashmere said before momentarily stopping to chug down orange juice. She dug in again, and Gloss gave a hearty laugh at seeing the piece of potato on his prissy sister's chin. He decided he enjoyed her eating company when she was like this. Of course, he knew she would revert back to her 'I'm a princess' type eating habits soon enough.

Cashmere slowed down and took the time to savor her food. Chewing on a piece of bacon, she fell into a thoughtful silence.

"What are you thinking of?" Gloss asked, instantly somber.

"I'm thinking…." She swallowed and pushed the plate away. "Gloss, what do we do now? What do we do with ourselves until reaping day?"

Gloss also set down his utensils, folding his hands underneath his chin.

"Well, the obvious answer would be to train, wouldn't it? Of course, there is the large chance we won't be chosen, but nonetheless..."

"Yes, you can never be too prepared."

"Even if the odds of being chosen are grossly against us."

"Yes, of course."

They looked at each others solemn face before collapsing into laughter. They laughed because their denial was hilarious and sad. They laughed because they knew they were kidding themselves. They laughed because they desperately wanted to cling to the marginal chance that they would not have to enter the arena again. They laughed because their situation was so earth shatteringly devastating that their only viable option would be to laugh or fall apart at the seams.

"Are we being stupid right now?" Cashmere asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Gloss reached over and took her hands in his.

"It's never stupid to have a little hope."

Without saying anything more, they finished their breakfast, and went out to train.


	3. The Reaping

a/N: Sorry for being late and the sketchy quality of this chapter! I recently finished up school and had to move out of dorms, and so I was just all over the place. lol! I hope you enjoy the chapter ^^

...

The Reaping

...

Cashmere had never seen Victors Village in such chaos. The usually sleepy town of victors was suddenly bustling. The air was thick with the clanging of metal on metal, and Cashmere acutely realized for the first time how some victors had deteriorated.

Of course, district 1 victors generally did not decay in the same way those of the lesser districts did to substance abuse and alienation. Most of these victors were indoctrinated with a certain callousness from early childhood, and were not prone to that. They were destined to be murderers, and unlike the victors of the destitute districts like 5, 11, or 12, when district 1 victors deteriorated, they deteriorated due to gluttony. (Though there were a few notorious morphling addicts also).

Sapphire, the once lithe and lethal tribute from eleven years ago threw knives at a target in the village square, her chubby arms jiggling and glistening from disuse. She was still covered from head to toe with her ridiculous amounts of sparkling jewelry, and Cashmere suspected that she had the jewelry amalgamated into her flesh in the Capital way. Sapphire had once been so lovely and fierce as she cut down the other tributes unfortunate enough to cross her path. It hurt Cashmere to realize that a tribute she had once so looked up to was reduced to the blubbering pile of hedonism and jewels she saw now.

"Let's move on Gloss, please." Cashmere said, tugging on his hand. He had been watching Sapphire with mild interest, but also seemed eager to get away from the pitiful spectacle.

"All of this is so terribly familiar." Gloss muttered, eyeing over the way the village was separated into areas for practicing various skills. Sword fighting to the right, archery to the left… further down: spear lessons. It was so similar to the training facility in the capital that it was cruel.

Cashmere felt a shudder run down her spine as her mind raced back to her time in the games. She didn't want to remember the chariot ride to the capital, or the week of training. She didn't want to recall her district partner's friendly face as he chatted animatedly with her over knot making, because she cut it later. She didn't want to remember her betrayal, or the way his brown eyes looked when his fingers stumbled over his flayed cheek.

"Where do you want to go first?" Gloss asked, sensing his sister's distress.

_Anywhere but knot making_ Cashmere thought, and as if he understood Gloss began to drag her towards the axes.

"Let's start with the most inefficient of weapons and work our way down. Okay sister mine? "

The siblings ventured over to the Axe wielding station which was empty except for a middle aged male victor named Io. No one messed around with axes because they were so unwieldy and heavy. Io was one of the only people in Hunger Games history to win with the fierce but impractical weapon, and fittingly he was a giant of a man. Most District 1 tributes had a similarly tall and slim build with decidedly effeminate features, but Io was as massive and heavy set the district 11 tribute Thresh had been.

The siblings were, as predicted, miserable with the axes. Cashmere's tiny frame did not have enough upper body strength to even impact with the target, and she felt jarring ripples travel up her arms as the metal impacted with the cobble stone floor. Gloss did not fare much better. His axe buried itself deeply into the wooden target, but refused to budge after.

"We're clearly not cut out for this." Gloss stated bluntly as he watched Io slice through the thick targets like they were sticks of butter.

They moved on to a station in which they both fared much better: knives. There they polished their technique while politely chatting with the thirty five year old Opal with whom they had always been very close. Cashmere couldn't help but notice with a mournful sting that a certain frigidity had settled over all of the victors. Though everyone attempted to hold up old relations as normally as possible, Cashmere knew that they were all actively wishing ill on one another, hoping their peers would be sent to their deaths in their stead. Even with Opal, Cashmere sensed a creeping frost permeating their conversation. In the end, the siblings dropped attempts at vapid small talk altogether and focused on lodging their knives squarely in between the mannequin's eyes.

...

Cashmere hated the moments when her mind would wander, because they never traipsed through happy memories. Instead, they paralyzed her, forcibly making her recall moments in the game or watching her own brother struggle to survive, gore, and President Snow running his cold hands down her back.

Today, Cashmere thought of Glimmer's green eyes and the hesitant way she smiled. She thought of her horrific death and the way she went mad as the bees stung her. Her death was slow. It was so slow, and after the venom ran its course, Cashmere couldn't even recognize the once stunning tribute anymore.

The way Gloss sobbed and clawed at his face as Glimmer fell to the ground twitching still rang in her head. Gloss must have loved Glimmer, though he was never vocal about it. Cashmere knew he must have felt something for that tribute. There was no other way to explain why he was distraught after her death, but stony faced as he watched Marvel bleed to death.

"If you're not thinking happy thoughts Cash, it's best not to think." Gloss said suddenly, piercing through the memories of the dead tributes.

Cashmere glanced up towards her brother. He gave a half hearted grin before returning to tend the fireplace. He placed another piece of wood, and watched the glowing tendrils of flame peeling back the bark.

"How did you know?" Cashmere asked, scooting closer to the hearth and leaning her head against her brother's arm. He was so much taller than her. He had grown so fast, Cashmere couldn't even place when it had happened. Even up to his hunger games, Gloss had been about her height. Perhaps even a bit shorter. She had always been the one looking down on him, carrying him around, reaching over the counter for cookies because he couldn't reach. Somewhere along the road, he grew to tower over her. Gloss, her baby brother.

"I could tell. You tend to wear your emotions on your sleeve." Gloss poured hot chocolate into a mug and gave it to Cashmere. "Do I dare ask, what were you thinking of?"

The bark completely peeled away and quickly became ash. Cashmere hesitated.

"I'm not sure if you would want to know."

"The bad thoughts might leave you alone if you talk about them." Gloss playfully snatched the drink out of Cashmere's hand, and she gave a small noise of protest. "Stop trying to hide behind the cup."

"You got chocolate on my skirt." Cashmere complained, flicking at the tiny splatter on the white cotton.

"Tragic." Gloss said dismissively. "What was bothering you?"

Cashmere sighed and folded her hands together.

"I was thinking of Glimmer and Marvel." She admitted, and she felt Gloss flinch.

"I have to admit, I didn't expect that. I assumed you were worrying about the reaping. It's getting close."

"I wasn't thinking about that, but I am now. Thanks brother."

The siblings settled into a somber silence, occupying their senses with the sound of crackling wood.

Glimmer and Marvel had been the very first tributes they mentored, and both of them had met disastrous ends. If their deaths had at least been dignified, Cashmere may have been able to grieve and move on. Instead, she and Gloss had to witness Marvel get pierced through the throat with an arrow, scrabbling at his ruined neck like a confused child. Marvel had always been haughty and arrogant, and Cashmere admitted she wasn't particularly fond of him, but the look of panic that ingrained itself on his face even in death disturbed her. If Marvel ever considered the possibility of his own death at all, he probably liked to imagine a glorious death after a grueling fight. Not a surprise attack in which he hardly even had time to lift a finger.

Glimmer's death was infinitely worse. Cashmere wanted to remember Glimmer for the unexpectedly kind girl that she was underneath her ice princess façade. Instead, when she thought of the tribute, all she could see was Glimmer hysterically flailing at the swarm of tracker jackers, her body twitching and bloating from the venom. Her bruised eyelids swelled shut over her piercing green irises. Cashmere would have done anything for those stunning eyes to remain beautiful. Instead her body was crated back to District 1 bloated, purple, and covered with plum sized tumors: an ignominious corpse after an ignominious death. The Capital never even bothered to make her presentable again.

"If we ever get the chance to mentor tributes again, we will do better. We'll bring one of them home." Gloss said finally, feeding another log to the fire.

Cashmere nodded, despite the fact that she knew, just knew, that neither of them would be mentors this year.

If Cashmere knew the Capital like she believed she did, both she and Gloss would be thrown into the arena once again.

"Here Cash." Gloss said, and Cashmere automatically lifted her mug of hot chocolate.

Gloss unfolded a little paper and poured in a teaspoon of white powder into the drink.

He then poured the rest of the white powder straight into his mouth, not bothering to stir it in with a liquid.

Since the announcement, the siblings had turned to a special antihistamine to put them to sleep each night. The nightmares wouldn't leave them alone otherwise.

...

District one has one of the largest victor pools in all of Panem. Dozens of people, in varying states of health and age, wait around the stage, hoping not to hear their name again.

But there really is no question of who will be reaped.

Cashmere and Gloss, siblings, both beautiful, young, and virile. Both deadly, and if sent together and pitted as enemies, a good possible source of heart wrenching familial drama for the viewers.

Despite intuitively knowing that they were about to hear their names and possible death sentence, the siblings clung tenaciously to their hope that it might be someone else. That terrible hope that someone else would die in their place. Maybe Sapphire. Maybe Opal or Io. Anyone else.

But of course, the first name written on the slip of paper fished from the orb said Cashmere. As she ascended the stairs, the brief thought that all of the slips of paper must have read her name crossed her mind before she locked eyes with Gloss.

He was looking at her with such uncharacteristically steely intensity that Cashmere could tell he knew what was coming. He knew he would be called next, and he was preparing himself.

"Gloss Rhodium."

The crowd parted for him immediately, and with squared shoulders and an air of self assuredness, he made his way to the stage.

The siblings had both agreed that if they were both called, they would silently clutch hands as a sign of defiance of the games. But seeing her younger brother walk bravely towards what could very well be his death sparked something in Cashmere. As soon as he ascended the stairs, Cashmere broke into a run, a sudden inexplicable and strong need to be close to her brother taking over her. Gloss barely had enough time to throw his arms open before his sister flew into him with such force he stumbled back.

Cashmere felt Gloss' arms wrap securely around her waist, and was vaguely aware that he had placed an affectionate kiss on the side of her head. She knew the message they were sending: They were entering as a team, and nobody should expect back stabbing sibling scandal between them. They would never betray each other, even if the laws of the hunger games called for it.

As the siblings embraced on the stage, a silence swept across the spectators. They all wanted to applaud their brave defiance, but the unprecedented presence of machine guns at the reaping made their voice catch in their throats.


End file.
